


It's Not the Easiest of Roads

by alisaj



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hiding a Body, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Moving a Body, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Stiles kills a werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisaj/pseuds/alisaj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles turns up on Derek's doorstep with blood on his hands and a favour to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not the Easiest of Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from The Hoosiers - Bumpy Ride. Whoops, this just sort of fell out of my hands and onto the keyboard. Think I've been watching too many movies!

"Come on Derek, open the door. Open the door," Stiles chants breathlessly, jumping from one foot the other nervously. His hands are waving through the air in front of him as he tries to dry them. A bag is slung over one shoulder.

The front door of Derek's apartment opens and he stands in the doorway in just a towel, looking extremely irritated. His hair is dripping, water droplets rolling down his skin. If Stiles wasn't so preoccupied he'd be very appreciative.

Derek's expression changes as he takes in Stiles. There's blood dripping from Stiles' hands and bloodstains cover most of his clothes. In the dark the red contrasts against his pale skin and Derek's not sure if those are just moles on Stiles' face or if there's blood splattered across it.

"What happened?" is all he says, voice urgent. He yanks Stiles forward with one hand, eyes scanning the street for passers-by or predators, and pulls up his sleeves, checking for the source of the blood.

"It's fine, it's not mine," Stiles rushes, trying to pull away. Derek isn't listening and starts pulling at the collar of Stiles' hoody, looking for injuries. "Derek, it's not mine!"

Stilling his hands, Derek looks up at him. There's a pause as Stiles is sure Derek sniffs the air and visibly relaxes when he doesn't recognise the scent of the blood.

"Um, I think I killed someone," is Stiles' explanation. Derek gapes at him, eyes widening. He needs a haircut and it's dripping down into his face in a rather fetching way.

"Get in," Derek orders. Stiles doesn't need telling twice and dashes into the apartment, waiting for Derek in the middle of his kitchen so that he doesn't drip blood all over the carpets. He's utterly at a loss as to what to do and a sudden panic has led him here.

Derek just stands there in his stupid towel (way too small, Stiles thinks) and stares. Stiles knows he's waiting for him to spill, but he's freaking out and doesn't know where he's supposed to start.

"I need help moving the body," he blurts, and Derek's face is a picture.

"You haven't got rid of the -" he breaks off with a groan and literally runs from the room, clutching onto his towel so that it doesn't fall down and give Stiles an eyeful (that he totally wouldn't mind).

"So... Is that a yes? Cause that would be mega helpful," Stiles calls to the house at large.

Minutes later Derek returns, shirt halfway over his head and jeans on. He sighs irritably and glares at Stiles as he picks up his car keys.

"Let's go."

Stiles realises that he ran all the way here and so taking the Camaro is a really fantastic idea for the stitch in his side. As soon as they're in the car Derek begins driving.

"Where am I going?" he snaps.

"Other side of the preserve," Stiles says, unzipping his hoody. Inside is a huge knife with a jagged edge that's covered in blood and looks like it was made in the Dark Ages. Derek glances at it for a second as Stiles pulls it out from inside his jacket and then does a double take, making the Camaro swerve off to the left.

Stiles grabs the dashboard with wide eyes, not letting go until Derek's driving straight again.

"What was all that about?!" he half-shouts, heart still beating too fast.

"Put that thing away," Derek hisses, giving the knife in Stiles' hand a serious case of side eye. Stiles looks down at it and blinks. Of course.

"Sorry man!" he says, putting it into the bag that's at his feet. Derek breathes out heavily, his mouth set in a straight line, seeming to be thinking about what to say. His mouth opens a couple of times and shuts again before he finally speaks.

"Where did you get that?"

"Deaton acquired it for me," Stiles says carefully, keeping an eye on Derek's reactions. "I figured it would come in useful. Which it obviously did, y'know."

The knife is centuries old and Deaton told him that it's one of only ten ever made and that Stiles should treasure it like he treasures his favourite body part (those weren't his exact words but it was strongly implied. Stiles knows exactly which body part he was referring to). It kills werewolves instantly, as well as vampires (who knew?) and a smattering of other creatures Stiles didn't know existed.

"I can understand why it might make you a bit nervous though. Maybe I should carry it around in my pocket, put you off from hitting me all the time," says Stiles, unable to sit still. He's scared someone's gonna find the body and he'll get arrested by his own dad. What a nightmare.

Derek gives him a look that plainly says 'do it and I'll kill you' so Stiles shuts off that train of speech, trying with much difficulty to stay quiet.

"How'd you do it?" Derek asks, less grumpy this time. 

"Well I was going out to the DVD store but my dad says I'm spending too much money on gas, so I walked. But this guy comes out of nowhere and starts following me, I mean like obviously following me. So I started running and then I realised that he was herding me somewhere. Like, shit. What was I supposed to do then?"

Derek's actually looking vaguely concerned and so Stiles carries on his dramatic telling of the night's events.

"I just let him make me go wherever he wanted me to go because I remembered I hadn't taken the knife out of my bag. I'm surprised he couldn't smell it or sense it or something."

"We can't," Derek interrupts. "That's another reason why it's so dangerous. It could be right under my nose and if I didn't know what it looked like I'd think it was just a knife someone had taken from their kitchen. So please don't wave it about like that any more."

Stiles gapes, both at the power of the object at his feet and the length of Derek's speech. He's not usually a man of many words.

"Yeah, well..." Stiles continues, thrown by Derek's interruption. "I ended up on the other side of the preserve by some pond and he jumped on me. I'd already swung my bag round the front so all I had to do was reach in and grab it. But I - I went a bit overboard," he says quietly, looking down at the blood on his hands. "I was scared, Derek. He was probably going to kill me."

His inflection goes up at the end of his sentence, almost as if asking Derek a question. Derek stares ahead as he drives. 

"Probably," he repeats, an answer to Stiles' sort-of question. He sits and waits as if he expects Stiles to continue talking, but Stiles is caught up in his own thoughts. When the werewolf had jumped on him he'd gasped and thrust the blade backwards into his stomach. The guy roared and rolled off Stiles, falling to the ground with an echoing thud. But he'd gone crazy, growling and snapping like he was feral and Stiles was fucking terrified, so he stabbed blindly at the ground in front of him where he knew the werewolf lay, not stopping until the only thing he could hear was his own panicked crying.

"Park up here," Stiles mutters when he recognises the pond nearby. The car stops and Derek gets out at the same time as Stiles, who just stands there for a minute.

"Come on," Derek says impatiently. Stiles blinks and shakes his head, leading the way through trees to find the edge of the pond.

"It should be around here somewhere," he states, fishing out a flashlight from his bag and switching it on. He turns the beam of light to his left and promptly drops it with a yell.

The guy's still there. And he's a complete mess.

"Stiles," Derek says incredulously, going over to the body and crouching beside it. Stiles figures he can see it in the dark, being a werewolf and all, so he doesn't move from his spot, even to pick up the dropped flashlight.

"I know," Stiles replies in a pained voice. "I told you, I panicked."

"Panicked and hacked a werewolf to pieces," Derek half-laughs, and is it just Stiles or did he sound impressed?

"Dude!" Stiles shouts, throwing his hands into the air. "Please! Can we not go on about how I killed someone please? Let's get rid of it, come on."

He's edgy, so Derek nods and just picks the guy up like he's not all falling apart and disgusting. Stiles wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"So where are we gonna put him?" he asks, picking up his flashlight.

"I know a place," Derek grunts, carrying the werewolf to the back of the Camaro and opening the trunk. It's got plastic covers inside, almost like Derek knows he'll ruin the upholstery otherwise.

"Often use the trunk for bloody remains, do you?" Stiles asks, eyebrow raised.

"Funny," Derek rolls his eyes.

He dumps the guy inside gracelessly and slams the door shut. Stiles has no problems getting back into the passenger seat and away from the back of the car.

"What if we get pulled over?" Stiles hisses, sliding down in the seat as Derek drives away. Last thing he needs is his dad driving past and recognising him in Derek's car and then finding a dead body in the boot. Now that would be a story.

"There's no-one to pull us over," Derek points out. Stiles realises that is very true because they're driving down a track he's never seen before, and they keep driving for over half an hour before it opens out into wild fields and Derek carries on until they're somewhere in the middle.

"Please don't tell me you come here often," Stiles quips, almost falling out of the Camaro when he opens the door.

"All the time," he hears Derek reply sarcastically.

The trunk gets opened again and the guy gets dropped onto the grassy floor. Derek picks up the floor of the trunk and a shovel (and some other stuff Stiles doesn't really want to look at in detail) is waiting for them inside. Derek shoves it towards Stiles.

"Make a start."

Gaping, Stiles moves a few feet away and stands looking at the ground for several minutes, trying to decide where to begin. Eventually he starts to dig, although he doesn't get that far before he's drenched in sweat and drops the shovel, letting himself fall over dramatically into the grass as he gives up.

"This should be your job!" he yells to the meadow. "I'm just a weak little human without super strength and stamina."

The thuds of the shovel hitting the ground tell him Derek's resuming the task, although he doesn't reply. Stiles lies for a long time looking up at the sky. It's half moon and the stars are shining brightly up above him as he searches for constellations. He thinks he might have fallen asleep for a while because it seems like minutes later that he hears Derek filling the hole in.

"You want help?" Stiles asks, recovered from before. Derek's covered in sweat and mud too but Stiles knows he isn't tired.

"Sure," Derek replies, handing Stiles the shovel and letting him put the rest of the soil back in. They fit the grass tops they cut out first back over the mud so it's less obvious and then they're done, putting the shovel back in the trunk and sitting back inside the car.

"Thanks," Stiles offers, out of breath.

Derek nods a reply and pulls off back up the track they came by. Stiles expects to be dropped off at home but Derek goes straight back to his apartment with Stiles still in the car, so he just follows because he thinks that's what he's supposed to do.

They both stand in Derek's kitchen when they get inside his apartment, standing opposite one another and taking in each other's appearance. Derek looks a total mess. Blood is all over his hands now too, his clothes and hair drenched in drying cold sweat, mud all over him. Stiles assumes he looks much the same.

"Sorry I ruined your shower," Stiles says, fighting back a smirk.

"Guess I'll just have to have another one," Derek replies dryly, taking Stiles by the arm and dragging him along to the bathroom.

"What are you - with me?" Stiles squeaks as Derek starts taking off his clothes. Derek looks up at him with a god damn sexy face on and Stiles quakes a little bit.

"If you're going to make me take two showers then you're going to have to save my hot water bill," Derek sighs, like Stiles has seriously inconvenienced him. Stiles can see the sparkle in his eyes that tells him he's not inconvenienced at all.

Well if that's not an invitation then he doesn't know what is, Stiles thinks, tearing off his shirt.

Several blow jobs and erotic skin scrubs later and they're finally out of the shower, Stiles wearing some of Derek's sweats and a tshirt. 

"We probably ought to stop doing that," Stiles says from nowhere as they're in the middle of watching the DVD Stiles was getting from the store when all this kicked off. Derek is sat next to him on the sofa, Stiles sitting sideways with his legs across Derek's lap.

"What, hiding dead bodies? Yeah, I agree," Derek deadpans, still looking at the tv.

"Ha ha," Stiles sneers. "No, I mean... You know."

Derek turns his head to look at Stiles. "Do you want to?"

Stiles thinks. Does he want to stop the exchange of sexual favours with Derek? No. Would he rather it was something a bit more serious? Maybe.

"No, I just - never mind."

Derek doesn't look away though. "You want more," he states quietly. Stiles tries not to look like a deer caught in headlights.

"I - maybe. Yeah."

Derek snakes his hand around the back of Stiles' neck and pulls him in closer.

"All you had to do was ask," he smiles, bringing their lips together in a soft, tender kiss.


End file.
